


If the Fates Allow

by afirethatcannotdie



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Drunken Kissing, Fluff, M/M, New Year's Eve, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 06:38:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8963500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afirethatcannotdie/pseuds/afirethatcannotdie
Summary: He picks up his phone again, thinking that maybe Fizzy can help him. He’s just scrolling to her name when a few rows down, he spots another name.
  Harry Styles.  Hadn’t he said he knew how to bake? “I usually bake for my mum but this year I can’t,” or something like that. No. It’s ridiculous to even consider it. He’s certainly busy; it’s two days after Christmas and Harry seems like the type of person who would spend the entire week with his family, not skip out early like Louis.  But it’s worth a shot.  Hi, I know this is crazy but I wondered if you could maybe help me…Louis yells at a stranger in a shop and a few days later, needs his help. Desperately. Then he discovers he’s kind of in love with him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thanks to [Sara](https://thekingisawoman.tumblr.com/) for helping me come up with this idea. I wrote it in the space of a week and it hasn't been betaed by anyone so any mistakes are solely my own fault. Feel free to let me know if you catch anything big.
> 
> I hope you enjoy and that you have a very Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! May 2017 be softer + kinder to us all.

✗

Christmas has been Harry Styles' favorite time of year his entire life. For twenty three years, he's loved the month of December more than any other. Well, maybe the first two years don't count because he couldn't understand what was happening, but for the other twenty one, he's been well and truly obsessed. He loves spending hours picking out the perfect gift, baking Christmas cookies with his mum, watching films in front of the fire with Gemma. As a child, he was particularly fond of barricading himself in his room, a sign taped to the door that read _Santa's Workshop, do NOT enter!!!!_ , the Christmas music turned up loud as he spent hours wrapping presents, choosing carefully coordinated wrapping and ribbon, all of it picked out weeks in advance.

There's just something about it: the music, the lights, the general feeling of happiness that permeates everywhere he goes. It's like he can wrap himself in the spirit of the holiday and use it as a shield against the sharp, biting cold of an English winter.

So it's his favorite holiday in the world, and he looks forward to it every year, once even going so far as to start a countdown once June 25th arrived. But this year, work has taken over and sapped most of his holiday spirit, turning him into some kind of monster who can't wait for Christmas and New Year’s to be over. It’s no fun this year. It's like for twenty two years he's been Cindy Lou Who, and this year he's turned into the Grinch.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Rebecca," he says as he passes the front desk of his office, adjusting the collar of his long black coat as he wraps his patterned scarf around his neck. The scarf had been a gift from a boyfriend in uni, a guy who'd liked Harry far more than Harry liked him, as much as it pains him to admit it to this day. It's a lovely scarf, though; maroon with gold embroidered leaves, and it'd be a shame to get rid of it just because he feels a bit guilty.

It takes forever for the lift to show up, an occupational hazard of working on the ninth floor, and he's happy to find that it's empty; it means he can be as grumpy as he wants without fear of betraying polite company. His happiness is short lived, as he's picked the most popular time to leave the building and is forced to stop at nearly every floor to let more passengers on. By the time they reach the ground floor, he's crowded in the back corner trying not to get high from the noxious perfume of the older woman in front of him.

He finally gets to the lobby, and halts his steps when he looks out the big glass windows to see the rain falling in sheets, hurried passersby walking quickly with their heads down.

"Bloody rain," he grumbles to himself, fishing through his bag for an umbrella. His phone vibrates in his back pocket, and he'd normally ignore it until he got on the tube, but going outside holds no appeal at the moment.

_**Hazza I hope you picked up that scarf for mum, she mentioned it to me AGAIN today. See you in a few days <3** _

It's Gemma, and oh fuck, he had entirely forgotten about the scarf. He'd done most of his Christmas shopping weeks ago, but the perfect present for his mum had been eluding him. First she hadn't known what she wanted, and then they did and the shop was out of stock, and now it's four days ‘til Christmas and he still hasn't gone to buy it. Looks like he can't go home just yet.

_On my way to get it right now. Are you still planning to drive me home Saturday morning?_

**_Leaving 9 am sharp, you better be at my flat!!_ **

_I will. Love you._

He heaves a sigh and steps out into the wintry night, bound for Harrods.

✗

" _City sidewalks, busy sidewalks, dressed in holiday style_ ," croons Bing Crosby over the stereo system in the department store, and ordinarily Harry would appreciate the sentiment but right now he's just overwhelmed by the number of people doing their shopping. He's already bumped into an older woman who scowled at him no matter how much he smiled at her, and irritated a young mother by accidentally stepping on her toe as they both looked at men’s dress shirts.

To the scarves, he decides; there's no sense dawdling here much longer. All he'll do is make himself grumpier.

He heads to the women's section, quickly spotting what he's looking for. The selection is poor, no doubt picked over days ago by shoppers more on top of things that he is. How could he have forgotten the scarf?

He selects a deep blue one with outlines of pink flowers, gold flecks of thread woven in. It's nice, and it'll suit his mum's complexion. He winces when he looks at the price tag, but then again, she _is_ the woman who gave birth to him; he can afford to go a little over budget for her.

He rides the escalator back downstairs and wanders over to the bakery department, intent on finding a pie or some biscuits to bring home with him. He’s baked something every year, but there’s no time this year, not when work is so busy. They'll have to make do with something bought in a shop.

He's two people from the front when he hears a man speaking behind him.

"Hey, you're the one that bought the scarf I wanted to get for my mum!"

He turns to see the source of the commotion, but apparently it's him; there's a man in a suit pointing at him, an irritated expression on his face. Harry frowns.

"Me?"

"Yes, you! You were upstairs and I was just about to get that scarf when you picked it up and walked away with it!"

"And you....you what?" Harry sputters. "Stalked me here?"

"No, I'm just trying to buy biscuits for my mum!"

"So am I!" Harry exclaims. "Normally I make them every year, you see, I have since I was about twelve. But this year I've been too busy with work. She's going to be so disappointed, my shortbreads are her favorite--"

"Alright, man, I don't need your whole life story," the man says, crossing his arms across his chest. He's a bit shorter than Harry, wearing a well-fitting suit, his hair styled into a quiff. He’s handsome, the type of guy Harry would approach in a pub, if he didn't look quite so annoyed. "Anyway, how do you think that makes me feel, you're getting your mum a scarf and biscuits and I'm just bringing her biscuits? Some son I am."

Harry holds up a hand. "There's an entire shop here, I'm sure you can manage to find her something else. I'm sorry I took the last scarf though, really. I can buy you a peppermint mocha to make up for it?"

The man shakes his head vehemently. "I don't want your holiday cheer, thanks, love."

"Fine, pal, no worries. Was just trying to be nice."

"Who's next?" The woman at the counter calls. Harry turns away from the man and takes a step forward.

☆

“Mum, I’m literally in line at the bookshop right now. No, no, please don’t get it. It’ll be my treat.” He sighs, trying not to roll his eyes as she continues to protest. “Yes, Mum, I do know that I spoil them. They’re worth it though.”

“I solemnly swear that I…” he repeats at her insistence, trying to keep his voice low. “Louis Tomlinson, will not…. buy my siblings any more Christmas gifts….after today. Okay, Mum, I really do love you, but I’ve got to go. I’ll see you tonight. I love you.”

He sighs as he hangs up, slipping the phone into his back pocket. She’s ridiculous. The twins had mentioned wanting a new puzzle game when he was on the phone when them earlier that morning, and what was he supposed to do, ignore their request? Absolutely not.

There’s a loud shouting at the front of the shop, and everyone in line turns to see who it is. Just as Louis is turning, he catches sight of the profile of the man ahead of him, and it’s—

It’s the man from Harrods that he saw other night, the one he yelled at after taking the scarf that he’d wanted to buy. He’s felt terrible about his overreaction for the past three days. He’s also been thinking about how handsome the man is, but that’s been less of a concern.

“Excuse me,” he says, reaching out a hand to touch his shoulder before he can stop himself. The man turns. “I just wanted to apologize for how I acted the other night.”

_What are you doing, why can’t you ever just shut up?_

The man’s face clouds in confusion for a moment before it brightens. “Oh, hi. Fancy seeing you here. That’s alright, it’s, er… you know. Christmas. Stressful time for everyone.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I needed to be an arsehole. I was a proper dick. Sorry about that.”

“Apology accepted,” the man says with a smile, and his eyes are bright green. Louis hadn’t noticed that before. He also hadn’t noticed the dimples. “I’m Harry.”

He extends his hand and Louis has to shake his head from side to side to clear his brain of all thoughts about kissing the dimples. “Lou--Louis,” he sputters. “Nice to see you again.”

“Nice to see that you’re in a better mood,” Harry says, and Louis’ eyes go wide. Harry lifts a hand in surrender. “I’m just kidding, I’m just kidding. Sorry.”

Louis feels himself relax a bit. “So, uh, it’s busy tonight, huh?” He gestures to the line ahead of them.

“Well, you know, day before Christmas Eve. Plenty of people doing their last minute shopping. What are you getting?”

Louis holds up the puzzle box. “Gift for my little brother and sister. They asked me for it this morning, I couldn’t let them down.”

Harry laughs. “How old are they?”

“They’re three. Nearly four, actually.”

Harry’s eyes light up. “Twins? Baby twins?”

Louis nods, laughing at Harry’s visible excitement. “Yep. Lots of years between us.”

“I love babies. I wish my mum had another…”

“That’s what I said, and then she had six more. Gotta be careful what you wish for.”

“You have _six_ siblings?” Louis nods. “Jesus…I’ve only got one, an older sister. Can’t imagine having more kids running around.”

“It’s a handful for sure. But it’s fun when I do get to see them all. I’m actually going home to see them tonight, that’s why I’m buying the emergency present.”

Harry holds up a CD. “Buying some Christmas songs for my sister and I to listen to on the drive home tomorrow. Her car’s so old that you can’t plug in your phone to listen to music, can you believe?”

Louis opens his mouth to reply, but they’re interrupted by a petite store employe handing them each a flyer as she makes her way down the line of customers. Louis turns the paper right-side up and examines the words.

“That’s sick,” he hears Harry say, and looks up to find him smiling at the flyer. Harry’s eyes flick up to Louis’. “John Franklin is one of my favorite authors. And he’s coming _here_.”

“I can see that,” Louis says happily. He’d spent long nights under the covers with a flashlight, devouring the author’s mystery novels as fast as he could. “He’s one of my favorites as well.”

“Really? Any interest in seeing him speak?” Harry says, and then covers his mouth with one hand. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep. I just mean that none of my friends like him and I’d really love to see him. But it’s not ’til next month anyway.”

Louis laughs. “It’s alright. Yeah, I’ll probably go.”

They continue to make conversation as they make their way through the line, trading stories about their favorite Franklin books. Louis tells him about dressing up as the main character for character day once in primary school, and Harry confesses that he had a murder mystery birthday party based on one of the books in the series. He’s funny, proper funny, which Louis hadn’t expected.

Harry’s two people from the head of the line when Louis decides to just go for it. “So hey,” he says, striving for casual, “d’you want to exchange phone numbers? We can try and save each other seats beforehand. Or something.”

Harry smiles brightly, and Louis feels himself relax. There’s something about that smile that “Yeah, let’s do that. That’d be good.”

☆

Louis pushes the cookbook across the marble countertop, trying not to scream. He runs his hands through his hair in frustration and then realizes too late that he’s now got flour in his hair. _Great_. As if this wasn’t already a major shitshow; now he’ll have to fix his hair again on top of everything else.

The party at Zayn’s is supposed to be fun, a laid-back after-Christmas gathering where they all bring food from Tesco and drink a lot of wine and get very drunk. But earlier this year, Zayn enrolled in culinary school and decided it was time to up the stakes for the party. Everyone needs to bring a dish that they made. From scratch.

He grabs his phone from its spot on the counter and types out an angry text to Zayn.

_this is dumb I’m hopeless_  
_can’t I just bring the wine_

**_No Lou it needs to be a more substantial contribution_ **

_But the wine IS crucial !!!_

**_You signed up to bring cookies, so I expect to see you at my front door with cookies_ **  
**_That you MADE!_ **

He immediately tries to call Niall, but the call goes straight to voicemail. Louis sighs and tosses his phone on the counter. A screaming fit would be really good right about now; if only he could just start pounding his on the ground like his little brother does whenever he’s angry.

His mum had offered to help him bake before he left home this morning, but he’d told her that she’d put him up for four days and it was time to head home before the roads were too busy. She’d raised an eyebrow when he told her that he felt confident that he could handle it alone.

She’d been completely right in suggesting that he couldn’t.

The first batch of cookies burnt, the second were completely flat, and the third tasted like he’d used salt instead of sugar. Now there’s two hours until the party and he’s chocolate chip cookie-less, with a friend who insists he bake something and another who won’t answer his calls.

He picks up his phone again, thinking that maybe Fizzy can help him. He’s just scrolling to her name when a few rows down, he spots another name.

Harry Styles.

Hadn’t he said he knew how to bake? “ _I usually bake for my mum but this year I can’t,_ ” or something like that. No. It’s ridiculous to even consider it. He’s certainly busy; it’s two days after Christmas and Harry seems like the type of person who would spend the entire week with his family, not skip out early like Louis.

But it’s worth a shot.

_Hi, I know this is crazy but I wondered if you could maybe help me…_

✗

Harry’s halfway through his second viewing of _Love Actually_ this week when his phone dings with a text. He leaves it until it dings again a few minutes later, and then reaches forward, eyes still focused on the television screen as he sets his glass of red wine on the table and picks up his phone.

It’s Louis Tomlinson.

**_Hi, I know this is crazy but I wondered if you could maybe help me bake some cookies ? I know it’s a huge favor and it’s a bit weird so pls ignore if you’re doing something more worthwhile ._ **  
**_Sorry , never mind . Hope you have a good night , see you for Franklin in January maybe ?_ **

Harry raises his eyebrows and reads the messages a second time and then a third. Louis Tomlinson wants him to help him bake cookies?

He considers the evening he has planned. Finish _Love Actually_ , watch _Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer_ , maybe convince Liam to hang out. But then there’s Louis, who has a _really_ nice bum and a cute face and apologized profusely for his little outburst, and he thinks that going out in the cold may not be so bad after all.

_Did you figure out how to bake in the three minutes between those texts?_

**_No just worried I was too weird,_** comes the immediate reply.

_Not weird. I’m not up to much if you still need help._

**_Are u serious ???_ **  
**_Sorry, weird again. That would be great._ **

Louis sends over his address and as Harry slips on his shoes, he wonders about the rationality of what he’s doing. Going over to the apartment of a person he’s met only twice in order to help him bake cookies. He thinks of what Liam would say if he knew about this, all the warnings about strangers and personal safety. But Louis doesn’t look crazy. Besides, anyone who loves their baby siblings like he does can’t be crazy. They just can’t.

✗

The cute boy with the nice bum is a wreck. That much is clear.

“So the party is tonight, and like I said, I need two dozen cookies, and Zayn’s going to have my head if they’re store bought.” He’s pacing the kitchen, the space between his eyebrows creased in worry. “He might be in culinary school, but some of us can’t make much more than scrambled eggs. I think he forgets sometimes.”

“Well,” Harry says, looking around the mess that is the kitchen, “I brought the eggs you asked for.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you,” Louis babbles, taking the carton out of his hand. “This is…honestly one of the most ridiculous things I’ve ever done, asking you to come over and do this. Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“You’re welcome,” Harry says, biting his lip to hide a smile as he takes off his coat and scarf, draping them over a nearby chair. “So what are we working with?”

“I just want to make these chocolate chip cookies,” he starts, handing over the cookbook to Harry. The page is stained with flour and droplets of egg, but at least the words are visible. “My mum said that it wouldn’t be that much trouble for 99 percent of people, but it seems like I’m the odd one out.”

Louis gestures to his rubbish bin, which is filled with cookies. “Three failed batches,” he explains, and Harry can’t hold in his laughter.

“Hey, it’s okay. We can figure it out. Why don’t you just take out all the ingredients and I’ll walk you through it step by step. I’ve done it before.”

“Oh, thank you so much,” Louis says, relief visible on his face. If he didn’t seem so stressed, the desperation would be charming. “Can you just take some milk out of the fridge?”

Harry crosses the kitchen to the fridge. He grabs the milk and as he shuts the door, he catches sight of a card attached to the stainless steel door with a Big Apple magnet. “Oh, whose birthday was it?” he asks, reading the colorful scrawl, something clearly done by a child. ‘HAPPY 26TH BIRTHDAY’ it says in every color of the rainbow, a few stick figure drawings beneath it.

“Oh,” Louis says, his face flushing bright red. “It was mine. Three days ago.”

“Your birthday is Christmas Eve?” Harry asks. “That sucks. Wait -- that means it was the day after I saw you! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Louis flushes again. “I’m not in the habit of going around telling strangers it’s my birthday. Besides, I don’t like to think about it. It makes me feel old.”

“Well,” Harry says, setting the milk on the counter and leveling Louis with a look. “26 is pretty old.”

Louis scoffs. “I’d like to say something to argue, but I’m worried that you’ll leave me here, and I really need your help.”

“Well, we better get started, before your friend gets mad,” Harry says with a grin. “Wait, does it suck having your birthday on Christmas Eve?”

Louis sets down the cookbook on the counter and looks up at Harry. “For years I would have said yes. You get less presents because people can’t be arsed to get you two gifts. But now…I get to see my family every year on my birthday, which most people can’t say. And my mum always makes it really special. So no, it’s not that bad.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything,” Harry says,

Having Harry here in his flat is a bit harder than Louis expected.

He’s beautiful, is the problem, even dressed down in black skinny jeans and a faded white Rolling Stones t-shirt. Louis stares at him as he takes off his rings one by one. His fingers are so _long_ and is hands are so _big_ , and it feels like the temperature in the room has been raised fifteen degrees.

“Y’alright?” Harry asks, turning back to Louis, his rings in a little pile by the sink.

Louis stares at him for a second, and then nods. He can’t _do this_ , this was a terrible idea. “Yeah, yeah. I’m good. I think I’m going to go pour myself a glass of wine and watch some TV while you work in here.”

He moves to leave the room, mostly as a joke, and he’s crossing over into the living room when Harry pulls him back with warm fingers looped around his wrist. Louis halts his steps and turns to look up at him.

“Hey, hey. I need your help with these.”

“Harry, honestly I’m hopeless,” Louis says, his voice nearly a whine, but he takes a few steps back into the kitchen. “I can watch, but you really don’t want me involved.”

“I’m not gonna let you take all the credit for these if you haven’t done a thing, Lewis. Besides, that’s no way to treat someone who’s doing you a favor.”

“Well, it’s not technically a favor if I pay you back.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” Harry asks, taking a step closer to Louis, his eyes darkening.

Louis swallows. This is not going how it’s supposed to. He’s not supposed to be getting seduced by a man that he yelled at in the bakery section of Harrods. That’s not how these things happen. “I will…give you some of the cookies,” Louis decides in a rush, walking past Harry and picking up the cookbook. Maybe if they start the actual baking, Louis won’t feel quite so squirmy. Something about Harry just gets under his skin. “Okay, where do we start?”

“I’m gonna run to the loo, and you’re going to measure out the sugar and the flour and chocolate chips.” Louis panics, eyes flying up to search Harry’s face. He’s gonna leave him here alone, after he’s already tried and failed to do this three times? “I’ll be back in three minutes, you’re not gonna burn any cookies in that time, it’s alright.”

Louis starts with the chocolate chips, eating a few as he goes. If only he could just bring some chocolate and be done with this whole thing. Everyone likes chocolate, right?

His phone rings, and it’s Zayn requesting FaceTime. He only does that when there’s a crisis, so Louis drops the half empty bag of chocolate chips and goes to answer the phone.

“I’m gonna kill you,” is the first thing Louis says, thinking of how he’s spent the entire afternoon trying to bake these goddamn cookies.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, mate,” Zayn says, rolling his eyes. “Can it wait ’til after the party? I need your help.”

“You need my help _again_? After all I’ve already done for you—”

“Just tell me which of these shirts looks better,” Zayn interrupts, holding up two nearly identical shirts, collars crisp and freshly pressed.

“The blue one,” Louis retorts, and Zayn frowns at him. Louis laughs; they’re both blue. “The one on the left.”

Harry chooses that exact moment to walk out of the loo and into the kitchen, wiping his hands on his pants. Louis turns, trying to shield him from Zayn’s view, but Zayn spots him anyway.

“Lou, who’s that?”

Louis flushes. “It’s…it’s no one.”

“He’s really cute. Are you bringing him to the party?”

Louis can feel Harry watching him from across the kitchen. He’s leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, a wry smile on his face, the island the only barrier in between them.

“He can _hear_ you,” Louis hisses. “I apologize for my friend Zayn,” Louis tells Harry. “He’s a bit…overeager. And he will be going now. See you later, Z.”

“Bring him as your date to the party!” Zayn yells just before Louis hangs up.

“Sorry,” he tells Harry, trying to hide how flustered he is. “He’s just…very single.”

Harry laughs. “Aren’t we all. I mean…unless you’re not?” Louis tries not to hear an invitation in his voice. But Harry’s single. Unattached. Not married. Good to know. If Louis cared, that is. Which he doesn’t.

“No, no, I am,” Louis rushes to say, and then wonders if that sounds too desperate. God, why can’t he ever just keep his mouth shut? “But Zayn is a special kind of single. Very desperate. Likes to hit on any male friend that I introduce him to.”

_Oh shit._

There’s a smile on Harry’s face and it suddenly occurs to Louis that he and Zayn would _totally_ get along. Fuck. That realization is followed by another, one that hits him like a kick to the solar plexus.

 _I have a crush on Harry_ , he realizes. The thought of Zayn hitting on Harry makes him want to scream. He’s _jealous_ , jealous of the two of them because Harry is gorgeous and Zayn is gorgeous and beautiful people only date other beautiful people.

“You okay, Louis?” Harry asks when Louis turns away and opens the first cupboard he sees.

“I’m good,” he mutters, pretending he’s looking for something important. Is his realization written on his face? Will Harry immediately be able to tell?

“Okay, why don’t we get started then?’

Louis shuts the cupboard door and steels himself. He can do this. They can bake the cookies and things can stay very cordial and Louis can wave goodbye to Harry and go to the party and just pretend this whole thing never happened.

It’ll be fine.

☆

“Alright, do you want to take over kneading the dough and I’ll turn on the oven and get the cookie trays set up?”

Louis is too busy watching Harry’s _too-fucking-big_ hands to hear what he’s actually saying. One of his palms could probably cover Louis’ whole face.

“Louis?” He’s stopped kneading, and that’s when Louis looks up to see his face. His eyebrows are pinched in concern.

“What’s that?”

“I asked if you wanted to take over so I can get the oven set up.” He grins.

Louis nods. Harry probably thinks he’s a dopey idiot who can’t even manage to pay attention for five minutes. “Yeah, okay.”

“Are you alright, Louis?” Harry wipes his hand on a nearby dishrag and lays it gently on Louis’ shoulder. His hand is so fucking warm. “You’re gonna finish this, don’t worry.”

“Just stressed about getting this done in time,” he squeaks, feeling like he’s sweating through his collared shirt. He’s already rolled up the sleeves, but he still feels too warm.

“No, no. Hey, listen. It’s okay. You can do it.” His hand is still on Louis’ shoulder, and his voice is so fucking soothing that Louis might need to make a run for it. Louis looks up to meet his eyes, and his smile is disarming, so comforting and kind. Louis feels a sudden rush of desire to sit with him on the sofa and ask him about his hopes and dreams. Because Louis is a little bit in love with him.

Oh no.

He can’t be, right? Things don’t happen this suddenly. He’s seen Harry three times in his entire life, there’s no way he can be in love. He just wants to know how Harry takes his tea and what is favorite movie is and what his dream job as a child was. But that doesn’t mean he’s in love. Right?

He’s going through the motions as they spoon dough onto the trays, trying to sort of the mix of feelings in his head. There’s no way he’s in love with Harry, absolutely no way. It’s probably just the conversation with his mum getting to his head, the reminder that he’s not getting any younger, that he should be thinking about settling down soon.

That’s all it is. Vestiges of an uncomfortable conversation combined with a handsome boy in his kitchen, the first guy who’s paid attention to him in months. But no, this isn’t love. It’s pure, simple sexual attraction.

“So, I’ve got a proposition,” Harry says, once they’ve slid the trays into the oven and set up the timer. “Chocolate chips are easy, but if you really wanna impress your friends, I’ve got a great shortbread recipe for you. It won’t take that long.”

☆

True to his word, Harry manages to make the shortbread and into time at all, it’s ready to go into the oven. The chocolate chip cookies sit cooling on the stovetop, and just the sight of them makes Louis hungry.

“What are we gonna do while we wait?” Louis asks. “Can I get you something to drink?” He doesn’t want Harry to go yet. He wants to keep Harry, wants to skip the party altogether and drag him to bed. A drink seems like the next best thing.

“Why don’t you make drinks while I wash the dishes?” Harry offers, already filling the sink with water. “How do you feel about cocktails?”

“I feel very, very good about them,” Louis says, trying not to stumble over his feet as he watches Harry’s hands moving in the water. What would those hands feel like on his skin? Running down his chest, grasping at his arse, gripping his thighs…images swirl through Louis’ head, each one dirtier than the last. This isn’t okay, nothing about this situation is remotely acceptable. “Two cocktails coming right up.”

It’s easy to talk to Harry, to laugh and joke with him as he sits on a kitchen stool. Louis is perched on the island next to him, feet kicking the cupboards below every so often. Louis finds out that Harry works in finance but hates how it sapped him of his Christmas spirit this year, that he studied abroad in New York City for a year in uni, that as a kid he set up a makeshift bakery and gave all the proceeds as a gift to his mum because he felt she deserved it.

Louis listens intently, entranced by the slow way Harry tells stories, using his hands for emphasis and going on little tangents, taking ten minutes to circle back to the point of the original story. And then comes another punch in the gut, the desire to smooth out the crease between his eyebrows, to cup Harry’s face in his hands, to kiss him until it’s the only thing that matters.

It wouldn’t be right though; he’s already taking advantage of Harry in one way, he can’t hit on him too.

The oven beeps in the middle of Louis’ story about the two puppies he had growing up. He sets his glass on the island and jumps to the ground.

“These shortbreads better be good, Harold,” Louis teases, opening the oven and wincing at the rush of steam that escapes through the door.

“They’re guaranteed not to fail, I promise.” He looks so earnest when he says it, like he’s genuinely worried that Louis will be disappointed.

Louis can feel Harry’s eyes on his back as he bends down, hands clad in oven mitts as he removes the tray from the oven. He fights the urge to wiggle his arse. In any other situation he would, but he’s trying to tone down his feelings for Harry, not be _more_ flirty than he needs to be.

“Well, they certainly look good,” Louis comments, staring down at the rows of perfect circles, the shortbread lightly dusted with sugar. He suddenly realizes how hungry he is.

Harry slips off the stool and walks over to examine them just as Louis picks one up from the tray. “Let’s see if they taste as good as they look,” he comments, and Harry’s thing to tell him not to just as Louis takes a bite.

The burn is immediate, sharp heat radiating across the surface of his tongue. “Ow, ow, ow,” he says, jumping from foot to foot as he tries to will the pain away. “Water, I need water,” he insists, pushing past Harry to get a glass from the cupboard.

“I did try to warn you,” Harry says, eyebrows raised as Louis downs the first glass and fills another.

“Yes, Harold, you were right,” Louis snipes back, setting the glass on the counter. “The biscuits are really fucking hot.”

 _So are you_ , he thinks. Harry takes a few steps closer, and his eyes are shimmering as he stares down at Louis. He’s biting his lip, a quizzical expression on his face. There’s something in Harry’s eyes, something definitive and dark that causes Louis to inhale on a sharp intake of breath.

“You’ve got a crumb just there,” Harry says, lifting his thumb to the side of Louis’ mouth to brush it off. When Harry’s finger makes contact with his skin, time seems to stop. The sound of blood pounding behind his ears is deafening, and he’s certain Harry can hear it too.

Harry brushes against the skin once, twice, three times, and lets his thumb linger there for just a second longer than really necessary. “There you go,” he says, taking a step backward. “All set.”

His eyes still contain that dark expression, and it makes Louis want way more contact than that. He wants everything, all of it, anything Harry’s willing to give him.

“Th—thanks,” Louis stutters. “Appreciate it.”

“How did it taste, though?” Harry asks reaching for a shortbread.

“You know,” Louis says with a smile, “Once I got over the fact that my tongue felt like it was on fire, it tasted pretty good.”

Harry lifts his hand for a high five after he takes a bite. “See, I knew you could do it. You’ll be a chef in no time.” Louis laughs; he’s far more likely to become a professional football player before he learns how to really cook anything more substantial than breakfast sandwiches or simple dinners.

“Thanks so much for all your help, really,” Louis says, starting to remove the biscuits from their trays and setting the on a cooling rack. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

When he turns to see Harry, he’s slipping his rings back on. Does Harry want to leave? But of course, he’s probably got other plans. That’s fine. Louis will just be sad for the rest of eternity.

“I should probably…probably go,” Harry says, slowly sliding a ring onto his finger. “I’m glad you learned how to bake today, Louis.”

Louis grins. “Me too.” _You’re an idiot,_ say _something, will you?_

“Well, anytime you need help again, you can call me, alright?” He rounds the kitchen island and picks up his coat from the chair. It’s the same coat he’d been wearing the first time they saw each other, the long black one that makes him look like the most glamorous man Louis has ever met.

“D’you wanna come to the party?”

The words are out before Louis even has time to think about the implications of the invitation. All he knows is that he doesn’t want to say goodbye to Harry tonight, not when there’s a weird twisty feeling in his chest and definitely not when Harry’s smiling at him like that.

His curls bounce along his shoulder as he nods. “That’d be great, actually.”

“Are you sure? Please don’t feel you have to, I’m sure you have other plans.” _He’s just said he would come, Louis, stop making him question it._

“I don’t, actually. I was planning to drink wine and convince my friend Liam to come over and join me,” he confesses. “We were going to watch _Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer_.” The thought is so endearing that Louis giggles.

“Well, that sounds perfectly lovely, but you can do that anytime. You should come,” Louis says, feeling more bold. It must be the alcohol.

“What about Zayn?”

“Zayn will…deal. Besides, the more the merrier.”

Harry hesitates. “If you’re sure.”

“Harry, I want you there,” Louis says, and there’s a moment of quiet vulnerability as the words hang in the air.

“Alright, then,” Harry declares, smiling brightly. “I have to go home and change, but I can meet you there.”

“I’ll text you the address,” he tells Harry. “It starts at half eight.”

“I’ll see you then.” Harry envelops him in a warm hug, and his scarf brushes Louis’ face as he squeezes Harry back. He inhales, and something smells so good, strong and sweet and comforting.

Harry leaves, and Louis closes the door behind him. He falls back against the door and slowly slides to the floor, covering his face with his hands. Harry is way out of his league, no matter how much Louis wants to kiss him.

What has he done?

☆

Louis’ hand is just leaving the door knocker when he hears a voice behind him.

“Sorry, sorry!”

Louis turns from the doorstep to see Harry running along the pavement, his coat flapping in the wind behind him.

“The Tesco near my house was out of flowers, so I had to go to one a bit further away,” he explains, holding up the flowers to show Louis. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

“S’alright,” Louis says with a smile. “I literally just arrived.”

“Oh good, thought I was late.”

“You are,” Louis says with a wry smile as he hugs Harry, careful not to crush the flowers between them. “But I am too, so we’re fine. What’s with the balloon?”

He’s holding a tiny pink balloon, reminiscent of the ones sold in hospital gift shops. It says ‘Birthday Princess’ in white script. Harry grins so wide that it looks like it’s going to split his face in two, and then presents the balloon to Louis. “Happy belated birthday.”

Louis bursts into laughter, covering his mouth with one hand and accepting the balloon with the other.

“It was the only one they had,” Harry continues. “And this flower is for you too.”

He takes a single sunflower out of the bouquet and hands it over to Louis.

“You’re ridiculous,” Louis says, utterly endeared.

Harry opens his mouth to answer just as the door opens. Zayn takes one look at the two of them, at Louis cradling a balloon and a flower and a bottle of wine and a box of homemade cookies and Harry next to him looking sheepish, and bursts out laughing.

“Zayn, this is Harry,” Louis explains with a tilt of his head. “Please, _please_ be nice to him. Harry, this is Zayn, my best mate who you had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting on the phone earlier.”

Zayn looks absolutely delighted to see Harry, and Louis flashes him a warning look. “Hi, Harry, nice to meet you. Don’t believe a thing Louis has told you about me.”

“I, uh. Okay,” Harry stammers, thrusting the bouquet of flowers toward Zayn. “These are for you. Thanks for the invitation. Though I’m guessing you didn’t know I’d be here.”

“They’re gorgeous, thanks. And nonsense, I told Louis to invite you, didn’t I?”

“Zayn, is that Tommo? Can you shut the door? It’s fucking freezing!” Niall bellows from inside the flat, and Zayn pulls them inside.

“What’s with the balloon, Louis?” Zayn asks as Louis strips off his coat, and Harry blushes.

“It’s uh...a present,” he tries to explain.

“Bit of an inside joke,” Louis tries.

“This is for you, isn’t it? Harry, did you buy this for Louis?”

“I did,” Harry says, sheepish as he lays his coat on the bench in the entryway. “Just like...it’s not a big deal. Just saw it at Tesco earlier and thought of him.”

“That’s fucking adorable,” Niall says from behind them, and Harry whips around. “Hi, Tommo. Who’s this? You must be the hot boy Zayn was telling me about. I’m Niall.”

Louis groans.

☆

Turns out that Louis isn’t the only one in love with Harry.

“You need to keep this one,” Zayn tells him in a low voice as they stand in the living room, Harry engaged in an enthusiastic conversation with Eleanor across the room. “You can’t let him go.”

Louis watches Harry’s smiling face, his curls bouncing as he waves his arms around wildly. “I know,” he whines to Zayn, not bothering to hide his feelings. “But we’ve _just met_.”

“So?”

“I can’t -- I can’t like him this much already!” Louis whispers, trying not to attract attention. “That’s not normal!”

“Sometimes ‘not normal’ can be the very best thing for you,” Zayn says, entirely unhelpfully. “I’m telling you, you can’t let him get away. He bought you a cheesy birthday balloon to make you smile. That kind of person doesn't come around all that often.”

Louis groans, dropping his face into his hands.

A half hour later, Louis is in the kitchen, microwaving a dish of pasta, when Niall comes up behind him.

“I just spent fifteen minutes talking to Harry, and if you don’t date him, I will.”

“You--you have a girlfriend,” Louis sputters, the first excuse that comes into his head.

“Don’t care. She might be happy to share, actually. Have you seen his face?”

“I have,” Louis retorts, “and I’d really like you to stay away from it.” Behind him, the microwave timer beeps, causing him to jump.

“Ah, so you _do_ like him,” Niall crows happily. “I knew it.”

“I like him _so much_ ,” Louis admits, and he wonders what it is about Harry that’s causing him to be this honest with his friends. It took three weeks of properly dating his last boyfriend for any of them to even meet him. How has Harry already flipped his usual script upside down and they haven’t even kissed?

Harry crosses through the doorway and Louis promptly stands up straighter, pasting a smile onto his face. “Hey, uh, Zayn says we’re ready for the pasta now. He says to tell you he’s hungry. And I am too.”

“Well, Curly, wouldn’t want to disappoint either of you,” Louis says, carefully taking the dish out of the microwave. “Let’s go.”

✗

For all Louis had complained about his friends in advance of Harry meeting them, it’s clear that he loves them a lot. He gives Niall the last of a bottle of wine, shares his bread with Eleanor when it turns out there’s not enough, and mocks them all fondly, like it’s a privilege only he can take advantage of.

They’re good people, that much is clear, and Harry marvels at how he found himself here tonight, when this morning he’d been planning to spend the whole night on his couch.

It had started as a little crush, an attraction that bloomed that day in the bookstore, and now after spending most of the day with Louis, he feels like he’s properly falling for him.

But no. That’s crazy. People don’t fall so soon, right?

They’re sitting in the living room after dinner, Louis perched on the couch next to Louis, when Zayn comments that they’re out of wine.

“I can go get some,” Harry offers, jumping up from his seat without a second thought. Zayn’s been lovely this whole night, teasing Louis for the blush on his cheeks and making fun of the fact that he brought Harry along, pulling Harry aside to tell him funny stories, much to Louis’ embarrassment.

He’s looking for the wine in the fridge when he hears footsteps behind him.

“Hey,” Louis says, smiling brightly. “You find it?”

“Yeah, just getting it now,” Harry says, holding up the bottle of chardonnay as proof before shutting the refrigerator door. “Your shortbread seems to be a big hit.” His words are slow and slightly slurred; multiple glasses of wine tend to have that effect.

“Well,” Louis teases, taking a step closer, “I had a good teacher.”

“I like your friends,” Harry says. The light from the nearby Christmas tree reflects off the top of Louis’ hair, making him look a bit like he’s wearing a halo. He’s beautiful, sharp cheekbones and bright eyes, flushed cheeks and pink lips. Harry wants to kiss him.

“They like you too,” Louis says, and the moment feels suddenly charged. He wants to know everything about Louis, wants to take him home and drag him into bed and have him still be there in the morning,

“I like _you_ ,” Harry blurts out.

Louis inhales on a sharp intake of breath, and for a moment Harry wonders if he’s gone too far, if he’s misread this whole thing. Then Louis takes a step closer and lifts a hand to tuck a lock of hair behind Harry’s ear.

“They sent me to see what’s taking so--oh, sorry,” Eleanor says, barreling into the kitchen and then stopping short as Harry and Louis spring apart. “God, sorry, I’m an idiot.”

Harry wants to hide in a cupboard, wants to live in the alternate universe where Eleanor didn’t come in and interrupt what was sure to be a perfect kiss. He can’t, so he settles for stepping out from between Louis and the fridge, smiling at his apologetic look.

“I’ve got it right here,” he says, taking Eleanor by the elbow and steering her back into the living room.

✗

“Thanks so much for having me,” Harry says a few hours later, a box of leftovers in his hand as he hugs Zayn goodbye. “It was lovely to meet you. And I’ll have to check out those books you recommended.”

Louis yawns and covers his mouth with a hand. It’s nearly one in the morning. They’re the last ones there. Everyone else left in dribs and drabs, saying their goodbyes and giving Harry big hugs as they went. They’re all so lovely.

“Lovely to meet you as well,” Zayn says with a grin toward Louis. “I hope to see you again soon. Actually,” he says, glancing at Louis again, a question on his face.

“Zayn’s having a New Year’s party,” Louis cuts in. “You should come.”

“You should. It’ll be great, very low key, lots of the same people who were here tonight. Probably more booze. Feel free to bring anyone you want.”

“Don’t bring a boy,” Louis whispers in his ear, his breath ghosting over Harry’s cheek. He fights the urge to shiver.

“That’d be great,” Harry says a little too loudly. “I will be there.”

Distantly, he thinks that he probably already has plans for New Year’s. He can’t remember what they are right now, but whatever it is pales in comparison to the prospect of kissing Louis as the clock strikes midnight.

“Bye, Lou,” Zayn says, hugging Louis. “Don’t scare Harry away.” Louis whispers something that Harry can’t hear, but it makes Zayn laugh loudly.

“You ready to go, Curly?” Louis asks once he’s got his coat on, and Harry nods. Zayn waves them out the door, and then they’re stepping out into the cold London street.

Harry shivers and wraps tugs his coat closer to his body, lamenting the fact that he left his gloves at home. _You could hold his hand_ , his brain suggests, thinking of ways to keep warm. He tells his brain to shut up.

“Where are we headed?” Harry asks after a minute of walking, assuming that Louis knows where he’s going.

“I’m walking you home,” Louis says matter of factly. “Didn’t you mention you live around here?”

“I do,” Harry says, and his chest feels light. He thinks about how a week ago, he was dreading Christmas and New Year’s, too stressed about work to think about having fun. Nothing’s really _happened_ yet, but he already knows that Louis has been a bright spot in the middle of all that, a lightning strike that crashed into his life out of nowhere. He feels hopeful for the first time in a while, like things are finally about to go his way.

“This me,” Harry says, stopping in front of his flat.

“So this is where you live, huh?” Louis asks with a wry smile, appraising the building. Harry takes a step back and tries to see it through Louis’ eyes: the crooked step, the broken handrail, the Christmas wreath with the bright red bow hanging on the front door.

“On the third floor,” Harry explains. “It’s not much, but…”

“It’s home?” Louis suggests, one corner of his mouth quirked up.

“Exactly.”

He takes a step closer to Louis, both of them shivering in the cold. “D’you want--”

He’s cut off by Louis surging up to kiss him. He stumbles back against the building, nearly tripping over his own feet as he goes. He finds his footing just as Louis brings a hand to cup his cheek. He swipes his tongue against Harry’s bottom lip, and Harry sinks into it, mouth open for him. The brick is cold against his back even through the layers of his jacket and his sweater, but he doesn’t care because Louis is _kissing_ him, his warm lips pressed against his. It’s a really good kiss right from the start, just the right amount of intensity, a warm comfort that makes Harry want more.

“Will you come upstairs?” Harry asks after a few minutes, and his voice sounds hoarse. Louis shakes his head, and Harry feels his heart sink. Did he -- no, there’s no way that he possibly misread this. Louis just initiated the best kiss Harry’s had all year. There’s no way.

“I want to. I really, really do,” Louis says quickly, leaning up to give Harry a short kiss. “But I’m a good boy and I’m not going to sleep with you on the first date. I can’t...I don’t want to...let’s not rush it.”

It makes sense, it _does_ , especially when Harry can already see himself being all in with Louis, can see them hurtling toward a future that neither of them are probably ready for just yet. But damnit, he really wants to get Louis spread out on his bed, wants to find out what makes him tick and what makes him come and what makes him feel really good.

“Do you have to be so goddamn noble?” Harry mutters, smiling at Louis and kissing his forehead.

“I just don’t want to ruin it with you before it’s even started,” Louis explains, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist and pressing his face into his chest.

 _You wouldn’t,_ Harry thinks. _You couldn’t._

“Wait,” Harry says, and Louis lifts his head inquisitively. “Did you say date?”

Louis blushes. “I...yeah, I guess this counts as a date.” He sounds like he didn’t even think of it until now. Harry certainly hadn’t.

“I’m glad,” Harry says happily, and then he kisses Louis again.

✗

Morning comes far too early, and Harry reaches out in the dark, feeling around between his pillows for his phone. His headphone cord is tangled around his shoulder, and he wonders once again if it’s unsafe to fall asleep listening to music. What if they choke him?

He squints at the bright light as he tries to read the messages from Gemma. It’s too fucking early to be awake, especially when he doesn't even have to be at work today. God bless the Christmas holidays.

**_Who is the cute boy on instagram???_ **  
**_Call me!!_ **

_What are you talking about_

_**The boy in the instagram picture!** _

He has absolutely no clue what she’s referring to. He hits the call button, only to realize too late that in his blurry haze, he’s clicked FaceTime. Well, at least he’d worn a shirt to bed last night.

He reaches over to flick on the lamp, flooding the room with light, and sits up as he waits for her to pick up the call.

“Who is he?” Gemma asks immediately. She’s sitting in her kitchen, her cat on the windowsill behind her.

“I genuinely, seriously do not know what you mean,” Harry says, trying to make sense of what’s going on.

“Were you at a party last night?” He nods. “Well, I was looking at your tagged pictures on Instagram and someone uploaded a picture of you and a boy drinking wine on a couch. _Who is he_?”

It hits him then, the memory of sitting in the living room next to Louis, wine glasses cradled in their hands as they talked about the best and worst films they’d seen all year. Eleanor had snapped a photo, and neither of them had realized until it was too late. He hadn’t expected that she would do anything with it.

“Just...a friend,” Harry tries, remembering too late that Gemma can see his facial expression.

“You like him,” she states, and Harry turns his face into his pillow and groans.

“We met at Harrods last week, when I was getting that scarf for mum. And then we saw each other again and exchanged numbers, but only so that we could go to this event together, and then we ended up spending yesterday afternoon together, and he invited me to a party.”

“You went to a party with random strangers just because this other cute stranger asked you to go?” She sounds shocked.

“He’s not a stranger!” Harry protests. “He’s...Louis.”

“He’s there right now, isn’t he?” she demands, and Harry shakes his head. He tries not to look mournful at the very suggestion of Louis staying over. He wants him to. “No, no, he didn’t come over.”

Gemma laughs. “Oh, you are in _so_ much trouble here.”

“It’s nothing, Gem. It’s not a big deal.”

“I can’t wait to tell Mum that you have a crush, she’s going to grill you so hard.” She’s gleeful, and Harry needs her to shut up right now. He loves Gemma, he really does, but she plays the part of overbearing older sister incredibly well. “It’ll finally take the pressure off me, maybe she’ll start leaving me alone.”

“Goodbye, Gemma,” he says, and she looks crestfallen as he hangs up and buries his face in his pillow again.

The last thing he remembers before falling asleep again is that he shouldn’t be this stubborn about Louis, shouldn’t like him as much as he does already.

When he wakes ninety minutes later and checks his phone again, he has a new message on Snapchat.

_Louist91 has added you as a friend._

Harry grins and adds him back right away. Within minutes, he gets a photo of Louis with the deer filter, his eyes crossed as he sticks out his tongue.

Harry replies with the puppy filter, and this continues for the rest of the day.

☆

“Can you put your phone away, please? I’m trying to talk to you. Stop with that stupid Snapchat stuff.”

“But it’s…”

“It’s Harry, isn’t it?” Zayn asks with a knowing grin, reaching for the phone. “Give me that.”

“No, I can’t let you message him. _Please_.” He sounds far too desperate even to his own ears.

Zayn rolls his eyes and tucks the phone into his pocket. “I’ll just hold onto it until you go home. I need your help with this.”

Louis tries to reach for the phone again, but with Zayn’s position on the couch, it’s hard to reach over and grab it.

The Very Important Crisis that Zayn asked him over for is explaining to him how to use online dating. Seriously. That’s why Zayn called him with an emergency and told him he needed to come over right away.

“I just think it’s time, you know? It’s not as weird as it used to be. Like that’s how Niall and Kelsey met. I might as well give it a shot too.”

Louis barely hears him, too busy thinking about how he and Harry have been in constant contact since they saw each other last night, sending Snapchats and joking text messages back and forth at a rapid pace. What if Harry gets worried that Louis hasn’t responded yet and he thinks he’s mad at him? What if he doesn’t want to--

Zayn snaps his fingers in front of his face. “Earth to Louis. How would you describe me on an online dating profile?”

“You’re a massive twat who’s desperate for love,” Louis shoots back, and then sticks out his tongue. “No, let’s see… _'excellent chef looking for someone to cook for for the rest of my life'_?”

“Oh, fuck off,” Zayn retorts. “Come up with something better than that or you’re not getting your phone back.”

Turns out the threat of never seeing his phone again is a great motivator, because within fifteen minutes, Zayn’s set up on two dating sites, with a great profile and excellent photos.

“What now?” Zayn asks.

“Now we wait for you to fall in love.”

☆

_I just don’t get why I need to be at work, why am I heeeeeree_

**_:(_ **  
**_The week between Christmas and New Year’s is always the worst. Hang in there xx_ **

Louis absolutely should not feel as giddy as he does at the sight of the two x’s in Harry’s text. He probably sends those to everyone, like an automatic signature. He spins in his desk chair, setting his feet up on the window sill as he looks out at the city. There’s perks to working on the eighteenth floor, namely the view of central London below.

On impulse, he dials Harry’s number and FaceTimes him. Harry answers after a few rings, but the screen is dark, like it hasn’t quite connected.

“Hiiii, can you hear me?”

“I can, but I can’t see you,” Louis says. He hasn’t heard Harry’s slow drawl since they parted ways outside Harry’s building two nights ago, the night of the excellent kiss, and it’s so nice to hear him again. His (surprisingly good) singing on Snapchat just doesn’t compare.

“Oh, sorry,” Harry says, and when the screen turns on, the first thing Louis notices is his wild mess of hair, curls sticking up in every direction. The second is that he’s entirely shirtless.

Holy _fuck_.

“I just woke up. Sorry, I probably shouldn’t say that since you have to go to work today. Lou?” Harry looks concerned. “You're not moving. I think my screen froze, hang on.”

Louis is wide eyed, mouth half open as he blatantly stares at Harry. He’s not moving, he can’t move, all he can think about is dragging his teeth over Harry’s collarbones. He’s got a few tattoos, dark ink smudged over his pale skin, and Louis can’t quite make them out but he wants to trace them with his tongue.

“I...I gotta go, Haz,” Louis chokes out. “Sorry -- emergency meeting. Talk to you soon.”

He hangs up the phone and stares unblinkingly out the window. He knew that Harry was fit, but he did not expect him to be that fit, sharp collarbones and abs that look sculpted from marble.

He turns back to the desk and lays his head in his arms, trying to think of the least-sexy things he can think of. The old grandmother on the tube this morning. His own grandmother. His baby siblings. He groans. He’s not going to survive any of this, not one bit.

☆

He feels like he’s been knocked down by a train. People don’t fall in love this quickly, they don’t. It doesn’t happen like that. But maybe it does. Maybe when you know, you _know_.

✗

It should probably be alarming how easily Louis has slid into the fabric of his daily life. He texts him silly things like the story about the puppy he saw on the way to the work that morning and the cool song that Harry needs to check out. Harry responds with his own stories, recommendations for books and a non-recommendation for the terrible film he watched when he was too lazy to get up and change the channel. They’ve gone from not knowing each other to texting non-stop.

Harry doesn’t quite know what’s come over him, doesn’t know how this has developed so quickly. He already misses the sound of Louis’ voice. There had been the very brief FaceTime yesterday and the phone call later that afternoon where Louis had apologized, saying that he got called into an emergency meeting about something dramatic one of the employees had done. This isn’t _normal_ ; he’s not supposed to feel so much so quickly. He already feels like Louis should come over to his flat and never leave.

He’s cooking breakfast in his kitchen, dancing around in just his boxers to a reggae song, when his phone chimes. He practically launches himself over a chair to get to it.

**_So remember that first time we met and you offered to get me a peppermint mocha ? I might take you up on that now !! U free later today ?_ **

His heart should not be doing a loop-de-loop in his chest. He’s known Louis for all of eight days. Eight days, and he already wants him to be a part of his life for a long, long time. He just wants to see Louis again, no matter how desperate it makes him look.

_Yes please, what time?_

**_How’s 2 pm sound ? Getting out of work early_ **

Harry smiles and texts the address of a coffee shop he likes, one that’s near a park perfect for a casual stroll. So what if he’s planning out ways to maximize his time with Louis? Sue him.

He’s shirtless in his bedroom, hands on his hips as he stares into his closet and tries to figure out what to wear, when Gemma calls him.

“Hi, d’you want to come over for lunch? Thought you might be in need of a home cooked meal.” Her voice is teasing; they both know that he’s the better cook of the two of them.

“Sorry, I’ve got plans with Louis,” he admits, the sentence slipping out before he has time to think better of it.

“A date?” She asks, her voice warm. “That’s progress, yeah?”

“I like him a lot, Gem,” he confesses, the bricks of his carefully built wall tumbling down around him. “I like him so much that it scares me.”

She hesitates, and he swears he can hear her thinking from across the city. “What are you scared of?”

“I’m terrified of scaring him away.”

“Why would you do that?”

“What if I like him way more than he likes me?” Harry asks, trying to calm his breathing. “Like...I don’t want to get into this whole thing about fate and destiny and all that nonsense, but…” He takes a deep breath, his voice softer when he speaks again. “It feels like he’s a part of me.”

“Well, if he is,” Gemma answers, her voice gentle, “then you won’t be scaring him away.”

✗

Harry gets to the coffee shop at 1:50 pm and snags them a table, but Louis doesn’t get there until five past two. He bursts through the door in a flurry, his long black coat swishing behind him.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, catching his breath as he approaches Harry. “The tube was late.”

Harry stands to give him a hug, and the first thing he notices is that Louis smells so good. Whatever cologne he’s wearing this afternoon is heavenly. He mumbles a hello into his hair, trying not to mess up the quiff.

“Hi,” Louis says softly, pressing a kiss to Harry’s cheek before pulling away.

“You look really good,” he tells Louis. He’s styled his hair away from his face, and he looks like a proper casual businessman, wearing a plum jumper and dark jeans. Louis blushes at the compliment and drapes his coat on the back of the chair.

“Thanks. You do too. Though I suspect you always do,” he says cheekily, tilting his head toward the register. “Will we order?”

He pulls out his wallet as they walk to the counter, ready to pay for Louis’ coffee despite any protests he may throw Harry’s way. A few minutes later, Harry discovers that Louis hates coffee.

“Can’t stand the stuff. Tea only, non-negotiable,” he says, taking the teabag and cup of water from the waitress with a murmured thank you.

Back at the table, his gaze is fixated on Louis’ hands fiddling with the tea. He stares at him as he picks up the teabag string between two fingers, dropping it into the boiling water and bouncing it around a few times. He feels a bit creepy admiring the movement of his slender fingers, but he can’t stop.

“So what happened to wanting to take me up on the peppermint mocha I promised you?”

“Maybe I just wanted to see you again,” Louis says with an embarrassed grin. “Seemed like the easiest way.”

“Well it worked,” Harry says, palms wrapped around his mug of coffee. He doesn’t admit to Louis that he could’ve asked him to wash a puppy in his bathtub and he still would’ve said yes.

An hour passes in the blink of an eye, their mugs empty on the table, when they make the decision to leave. The waitress is giving them a disgruntled look and so are a few waiting patrons, so Harry suggests that they go for a stroll in the park across the street. It’s snowing lightly, but he’s not quite ready to let Louis go yet.

Louis slips his hand into his after they cross the street, and when Harry glances over at him, he’s wearing a shy smile. Harry returns it. He feels warm all over, and he feels like the biggest cliche in the world.

“When I was five I wanted to be a bin man,” Harry confesses, continuing their earlier conversation of embarrassing childhood confessions. “I thought that I could help the environment.”

Louis giggles. “What’d your mum say?”

“Told me to go for it. She’s good like that.”

“I wanted to be a footie player. Was about sixteen before I finally accepted that I was never going to play for England.”

“Aw, babe,” Harry says, squeezing Louis’ hand. “Never say never.”

Louis laughs. “With encouragement like that, how could I not shoot for the stars?”

As he tells Harry about his greatest fears from growing up and how they aren’t so different now that he’s an adult, Harry has a sharp, sudden realization that he feels at home. It’s a welcome feeling, if a bit unexpected. He feels at home here with Louis, their hands clasped as they talk about their lives.

They pass a couple dancing to a street musician, and as Louis cuts off his words to start humming along, Harry wonders what song he wants to dance to for the first dance at his wedding, wonders if it’s the same song that Harry himself has been thinking about for years. He wonders what color Louis would paint a baby’s room, how many kids he wants to have, if he’s ever thought about living anywhere other than London.

“You alright?” Louis asks, pulling him out of his reverie.

“Yeah,” Harry says, pulling on Louis’ hand to stop him. He brings a hand to his waist and pulls him close, bending down slightly so that he can kiss him softly. “Yeah, I’m good.”

The kissing is a good distraction, and they stay like that for a few minutes, until Harry starts to get concerned about the chill in his bones.

“You’ll be at the party tomorrow night, right?” Louis asks, and it’s cute that he thinks there’s a world in which Harry wouldn’t show up to it. As if there’s anything else Harry would rather be doing. There’s not.

“I’ll be there,” Harry says with a nod.

“Good. Remember, don’t bring a boy.”

“I won’t.”

☆

Harry shows up with a boy. They’re holding hands when he opens the door, and Louis feels like his heart has dropped out of his chest. The other boy is handsome and he’s muscle-y and he’s smiling and Louis feels so hurt. Of course it was all too good to be true. Of course someone like Harry wouldn’t be interested in him long term.

“I--” He feels like he’s been punched in the chest, can’t find the words to ask what’s going on. He can’t force himself to smile, not when he feels like he does. “Hi, Harry.”

“Oh god, your face!” Harry says, face etched with delight. He lets go of the boy’s hand and Louis feels a bit lost. The other boy is laughing too and Louis is just confused, confused, confused, but that all disappears when Harry brings a cold hand to his cheek and kisses him deeply.

“Oi, that’s enough,” the other boy says after a minute. “Cut it out.”

Harry laughs against Louis’ mouth and then pulls away. “Lou, this is Liam. My best mate.”

“Your--your best mate,” Louis stammers.

“Nice to meet you, mate,” Liam says, grinning cheekily as he extends a hand. “Heard a lot about you.”

Harry goes bright red and pinches him on the shoulder for that one. He wraps a hand around Louis’ waist and pulls him close, and Louis feels like now, all is well.

“That was a dirty trick and you’re a twat,” he curses, but he kisses Harry anyway. “Come on in, it’s fucking cold out there. Liam, I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

☆

The party is brilliant fun, as all of Zayn’s parties are. The music is loud and the alcohol is plentiful. Louis introduced Liam to Zayn, and curiously, they’ve been talking in the living room for the better part of an hour. Louis will have to tease Zayn about that later. But by far, the best part is having Harry at his side the whole time, playing beer pong and looking like walking sin in a fancy shirt that’s got more buttons open than done.

The best aspect of this is that Louis can kiss him anytime he wants. He kisses him when they win a shot, kisses him twice when they lose, and pulls him in for a bruising kiss when they win three matches in a row.

“Dream Team!” Harry crows when they separate, much to the chagrin of Niall and Kelsey, who are not nearly as good as Harry and Louis.

“You’re definitely cheating, mate,” Niall protests, but Harry argues that they’re just good.

Louis bites his lip as he watches them banter, trying to stop his smiling from taking over his whole face. Harry fits in with them all so well. Louis is happy, happier than he’s been in a long time, and he doesn’t want to let this feeling go.

☆

“Oh, just wear it,” Harry begs. “Everyone else is.”

Louis sighs and then drops his head so that Harry can stick the party hat on top of his head. The string snaps against his chin, and Harry winces. “Sorry.”

“S’okay,” Louis mutters. “More concerned about how dumb this looks.”

“It doesn’t look dumb! It’d look worse if you didn’t wear one. Does mine look dumb?”

He steps back and strikes a pose, hands on his hips as he tilts his head to the side. No, Harry doesn’t look dumb, but that might have more to do with his flushed cheeks and beaming smile than the actual hat. It’s more about the _idea_ of them all being forced to match.

“Get over it, Louis,” Zayn says when Louis says as much. He passes a beer to Harry and another one to Louis. “We’re wearing the hats.”

“And the glasses,” Harry says, pulling two pairs of glasses out of his back pocket. “You’ve gotta wear these too.”

He holds them up; they’re those cheesy glasses that have the year printed on them, the ones that Louis used to wear with his sisters when he was young and forced to babysit them while his parents went out to their own party. Louis takes them with a sigh. “These really stopped working in 2010, but okay, Haz.”

Harry’s happy smile when he slips them on is worth it.

He spends the rest of the party with Harry by his side, chatting to Perrie and her boyfriend about their skiing holiday and to Liam about his new dog and to Kelsey about the bakery she’s hoping to open in the autumn. Harry’s thrilled to hear about the bakery. “I used to be a baker,” he tells Kelsey proudly, only to confess a few minutes later that he’d just _worked_ in a bakery and his job had mostly consisted of ringing up customers and sweeping the floor as necessary.

“Still,” he says with a pout when Louis teases him about this, “I trained with a baker.”

“Whatever you say, babe,” Louis tells him, pressing a kiss to his temple.

Before they know it, Zayn is calling for them all to gather in the living room to watch the countdown. Glasses of champagne are passed around, and the music is turned down so they can all watch the television. There’s a fireworks celebration on the Thames, and they watch as an explosion of color bursts over the London Eye as everyone shouts “Ten! Nine! Eight!”

Harry turns to face Louis as the countdown continues, and Louis drinks him in: his hat is askew on his head, the glasses tucked against his chest in the dip of his shirt, and his cheeks are flushed. Louis has never felt a lightness in his chest quite like he does at this moment, happy and comfortable and appreciative. It’s a feeling that he never wants to let go of.

“Five! Four! Three!”

Harry’s dimples are prominent as he beams at Louis, his eyes glinting in the light reflecting from the television. His lips are full and pink and Louis can’t wait until 2017 to kiss him.

He leans in just as everyone’s yelling “Two!” and he can feel Harry smiling as they kiss. There’s a roaring cheer behind them and he knows it’s for the new year but he feels like it’s for the two of them. It’s the most perfect kiss of Louis’ life. He doesn’t want to think about it too much, because then he’ll get all sappy, thinking about how at home he already feels with Harry, how he wants to keep him forever.

“Happy New Year, Lou,” Harry whispers, bringing his thumb up to trace the line of Louis’ cheekbone. Louis leans into the contact, smiling brightly, already dreaming of all the things they’ll do in the coming year. They haven’t talked about it yet, but he knows Harry is it for him, feels it deep in his bones beyond any sense of rational thinking.

“Happy New Year, Hazza.”

✗

The kettle whistles sharply, and Harry reaches over to flick it off just as the toaster pops out four pieces of toast. He sets to work making two cups of tea, slipping the toast onto a plate and scraping the butter over it. He slices them in half and sets the plate aside, grabbing milk from the fridge and sugar from the cupboard. He paid attention yesterday at the coffeeshop, so he’s got a pretty good idea of how Louis likes his tea.

“Good morning,” says a scratchy voice behind him. He turns to see Louis in just a pair of boxers, his hair messed up from sleep, a pillow crease on his cheek. Louis squints and flashes him a sleepy smile. The sight of it makes something twist in Harry’s heart.

“Morning,” Harry says as Louis approaches him, backing him up against the counter. “I made tea, was planning to bring it to you in bed.”

“Mmm, best boyfriend ever,” Louis says against his lips, and Harry’s heart twists again. Really?

“Yeah?” He smiles lazily, trying to act like he’s not as affected by the idea as he really is.

“Yeah, I think so. I mean, who knows what the next one will be like, but you’re the best I’ve got for now,” Louis says, sticking out his tongue and reaching for the tea. “Might as well keep you ’til I find something better.”

Harry doesn’t understand how this is his life, how ten days ago he’d never heard of Louis and now he’s got a blue-eyed boy shirtless in his kitchen, teasing him and kissing his shoulder. He wraps his arms around Louis’ bare waist, sliding down the counter a bit so that he can look him in the eyes. He presses his thumb into a finger-shaped bruise on Louis’ hip, the two lining up perfectly.

“Think you’ve got a few bruises,” Harry murmurs, and he looks up at Louis with a beaming smile on his face. Louis is smiling at him like a lunatic. “Sorry about that,” he adds, not sorry at all. Last night had been _really_ good.

“You should be,” Louis murmurs back. He drapes his arms around Harry’s neck loosely, his body a warm weight against his chest, and Harry thinks about how this is just the beginning.

“I”m so glad it’s you,” Harry says in Louis’ ear, and Louis beams.

“Me too,” he says, and then kisses him again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! The fic post is [here](http://afirethatcannotdie.tumblr.com/post/154828339581/if-the-fates-allow-he-picks-up-his-phone-again) if you'd like to reblog. Come talk to me on Tumblr [here](http://afirethatcannotdie.tumblr.com/) :)


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